Contemplation
by greeneyedgirl105
Summary: A short, interesting one-shot about Azula's time in prison. Please read and review.


**Thanks for reading. Please review. And read my other story, Shot of Faith.! Thank you!**

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Pressure. Pressure everywhere. Surrounding me, closing in on all sides like an oppressive dark cloud, obscuring all possibilities of logical thought or action. The padded cell, with its white walls, and white floor, and white ceiling. And the white jacket that presses my arms against my chest and locks me into place. No color, just white. It could be night; it could be day. Is it winter, or summer, or spring, or fall? Does time exist anymore? Does time even matter in this place?

I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy. I tell myself this over and over again, but the Beast just laughs raucously and flicks his forked tongue, taunting me with hallucinations of sanity and freedom and color. I am drowning in the emptiness this cell, and just as I think I am climbing to the surface of my senselessness, I'm dragged back under, and darkness floods into my mouth and nose, making it impossible to breathe, to see, to think.

I'm surrounded now, by a blood-red sky and an empty plain. On the horizon the dark shapes fly, always drawing my eye, keeping my attention, distracting my troubled mind. The vultures that feed on fear and desperation, that fly on shadowy wings, that inhabit this dreamland that is my reality. Even farther away from the vultures, a hulking shape lies sleeping, curled in on itself, it's massive side rising and falling with its deep breathing. The Beast.

Then the raining fire comes, brought down by the sins of others. I told them, I told them! I tried to tell them this would come, but would they listen? No! Now I try to avoid the unavoidable as the droplets of fire blister my skin and burn my hair. My feet pound against the hard-packed dirt as I run, my vision blurs, and the orange sun balloons to the size of God and then bursts. Then there is only darkness.

When my thoughts are clear enough to discern from my dreams, I question my existence. Why am I like this? How and when did this happen? Can I fight this? Can I fight the madness that traps me here, that keeps my soul pinned to this room, that allows the nightmares to come not only when I sleep, but also to my waking mind? My body becomes lighter and lighter, until I am flying. Then the Beast finally notices his captive's disobedience, and he is angry.

He roars. It is a terrible sound. It is a painful sound. It is a sound that echoes into infinity, ringing in my ears, never ending, never beginning, never fading. This roar—I know what it means. It means that he is taking me back, back into my fevered world of terror and abominations. However, this time it is different. Now I am confronted with something new: a numbing state of mind, wiping away all questions and thoughts of former days.

No! This is not right, or natural, or even sane. I will keep my wits, thank you. I will not have them stripped until I am no better than a beast, some animal that only knows its primal desires and needs. This creature, the Beast, he is not even real! I created him, and I can get rid of him. The Beast just laughs again, sending a shudder down my spine. I can feel myself shake, a quiver that reaches down into the very essence of my being as I fight off the Beast. He is testing me, straining slightly against my defenses. Then he smirks, and breaks down my barriers.

Following my defeat, there are faceless horrors that plague me for seventeen lifetimes. They are terrible, yes, they are horrible, yes, but they are familiar. The Beast has lost his advantage, pressed his luck, drawn his line. Fool. Yes, he is strong, but I am stronger. And when I awake, the Beat is waiting for me, with teeth and talons laced with the poison that brought on fevered dreams and frightened realities. This time is not my time. I must wait before I can strike.

When the time comes, the very Earth shakes, for we clash like waves upon the rocks: loud, violent, foaming from the torrent of our hate for one another. Then I speak the first words I have said in a million lifetimes, "This is MY mind! Leave!" And the Beast fled, tumbling head over heels into the dizzying wake of my fury. I am my own again.

Reality snaps back with the startlingly and painful clarity of a rubber-band on bare skin. No longer do I see the Beast, or visions, but instead the hideously white room around me and the tight jacket that clads my body. I have no mirror, but I assume that I look as when the loathsome Beast first sank his claws into me and I stared into my mirror, terrified, whispering, "What is happening to me?" Surely my dark brown hair is lank, my amber eyes dull, my gaunt face etched with the lines of stress, and my bony body trembling from my sickness.

I do not wish to linger in my thoughts, and I twitch gratefully when the two guards walk into my cell. I look up at them, and they see surprised. Usually, I suppose, I am hunched over, lost in my own frenzied world. "I am me. I'm me again!" I croak in my unused voice. One guard lifts his bearded chin, his grey eyes glinting with pity. The other simply sets a plate of food in front of me. I must have not been so far gone that I could not feed myself, though I have no recollection of ever eating, or drinking, or fulfilling other bodily needs.

Then the guards leave me alone as I shriek at them, pleading with them, telling them that they must understand! I am me again! The door shuts closed with a thud, and as the lock snicks shut, I realize that I am stuck in this place. I am a sane person in asylum. Now it is no longer a fight between me and the Beast, but one between me and encroaching boredom, which carries insanity upon its back.


End file.
